The repetitive sound of the cathedral's clock echoed punctually at noon and at midnight, reaching even the farthest corners of the city. To Janab's ears, that chime was a persistent reminder that the cycle of the day never ceased to turn.
She had walked aimlessly for hours. The rainwater pooled over the cobblestones, forming mirrors that distorted the world beneath her feet, forcing her to move with caution. It couldn't be said that she was lost; rather, she was consumed by a deep fatigue born of wandering endlessly through those labyrinthine streets.
Caprissia was stifling by day and desolate by night; yet, at first glance, it seemed a moderate city—easy to cross, even through its darker passages—if one dared to use them as shortcuts.
Janab's feet sank into puddles just as a heavy, shadowed fog descended, devouring the space around her. The street lamps cast only a faint, useless halo, and the solitary echo of her footsteps was the only sound that survived the stillness.
She peered into the distance through the dense haze, stopped, and turned into a narrow alley on her right. At that precise moment, her attention was violently seized by a silhouette ahead.
The bells ceased to exist in her mind. She lifted her gaze—and her reason broke. What she saw could not be real. Her instinct tried to convince her that the shadows deceived her, yet the evidence before her eyes shattered any attempt at denial.
A male figure stood within the fog, shrouded in strands of black hair as deep as the darkness that had birthed them.
The scene resembled a portrait torn from humanity's oldest nightmares, and a brutal shiver raced across her skin. It was a man holding another by the nape, locked in an embrace that could not be mistaken for anything tender. He buried his face in the flesh of his victim's neck with chilling devotion. Silken hair fell like the finest curtain of black velvet, cascading over the captive body, caressing pale cheeks as the final glimmer of life faded from the victim's glassy eyes.
The body convulsed once more, then fell still. The powerful hands that restrained it released their grip with deliberate slowness. Wrapped in the mist, the entire scene seemed to unfold within an eternity of silence.
When Janab raised her eyes, they met the impossible—two crimson pupils. Eyes that did not belong to anything human. Neither "cold" nor "unnatural" sufficed to describe them. Perhaps only one word could: diabolical.
The lifeless body collapsed to the ground with a dull thud. Janab stood paralyzed, feeling a fear she had thought long forgotten awaken deep within her. Crimson blood ran through the cracks of the pavement, confirming what her mind refused to accept.
A primal, inexplicable terror stirred within her at the sight of the red streams spreading between the stones. Blood? Her thoughts screamed with clarity, though her lips remained sealed. Her eyes traced the man's features once more. His full lips were stained a deep shade of red—a color that dripped from his porcelain chin.
The light was faint, and the fog continued to swirl through the unreal atmosphere. It had been so long since she had felt true fear, for exposing herself to such emotion required an energy she had long refused to spend. Surely this had to be a dream—though she wasn't certain it could be called a nightmare. Yet remaining so naïve had led her into a scene far more inconceivable.
He moved, stepping over the corpse with inhuman grace. His mere presence hypnotized her—like a bloodstained moon suspended in a starless night.
Janab tried to step back. She tried—but the figure's movement was faster than a blink. His nearness sent a tremor through her entire being.
A chill rippled across her skin. Her heartbeat surged until it ached in her throat. She shut her eyes tightly, fists clenched in a futile attempt to defend herself. She braced for the inevitable contact.
But nothing happened.
Instead of attacking, the man withdrew.
—That stench.
The voice was velvet dragged across the senses—deep, resonant, as sensual as it was revolting. The contradiction only deepened as a grimace of absolute disgust twisted his face when he spoke those words.
Janab opened her eyes and saw him clearly. An impossible beauty—androgynous, defiant of human logic. His very existence was a threat to the natural order.
—Your whole body trembles… yet your thoughts are loud and disorderly.
The comment pierced her like a blade. Was he reading her mind? Or was her vulnerability so painfully obvious?
The man wrinkled his nose in disgust and covered his face with long, pale fingers, as if her mere presence sickened him.
—That scent… of flowers and wax.
The disdain in his tone was unmistakable.
A heavy silence fell before he turned away. His stride was elegant, unnatural—and his voice did not return. He dissolved into the mist as if he had never existed.
The world awoke suddenly: the sound of rain, the distant murmur, the pounding of her own heart. Even time itself seemed to have escaped some invisible prison.
Janab looked around. Where the corpse had lain, there was now only emptiness. No blood, no body, no trace.
Even in her memory, the man's features began to fade, distorting like a dream. She tried to reconstruct him—but failed. The only thing that remained was the cruel sensation of having lived it.
Or perhaps… of having imagined it.